


A Long Way

by Geenee27, PhryneFicathon



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-12 20:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13555005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geenee27/pseuds/Geenee27, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon
Summary: Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson travels to Europe again, however this instance is motivated by a whole new type of bravery for him.And of course, like most things that involve the Inspector and the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, there are ... complications.Will Jack be able to complete his endeavor to 'come after her' ?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuailiTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuailiTea/gifts).



THE WATER LILY By Rainer Maria Rilke

_My whole life is mine, but whoever says so_  
_will deprive me, for it is infinite._  
_The ripple of water, the shade of the sky_  
_are mine; it is still the same, my life._

_No desire opens me: I am full,_  
_I never close myself with refusal-_  
_in the rhythm of my daily soul_  
_I do not desire-I am moved;_

_by being moved I exert my empire,_  
_making the dreams of night real:_  
_into my body at the bottom of the water_  
_I attract the beyonds of mirrors_

#### PROLOGUE

As Phryne awoke, she gradually became aware of the light touch of a finger pad along her temple as it brushed her hair aside and then curled it around her ear. The contact was gentle and loving and the fingers carried on to caress the spot behind her ear that she loved to have touched. A smile began to spread across her lips to her cheeks and she reached out to feel the warm, smooth skin of her bed partner. All her hand found were cool sheets and pillows. She frowned and opened her eyes and it brought her out of her dreams. The luxuriously appointed bed lay empty beside her. She turned onto her back and glanced towards the curtained windows where a sliver of morning light sneaked through.

Phryne closed her eyes again and huffed in frustration. Damn the man for all this interminable waiting, she was determined to make him pay dearly. Torture came to mind, there is nothing she would love more then to have her unflappable Detective Inspector begging for mercy. This thought only added to her mood as it made her recall moments of their early association when flustering him had been one of her favourite things. These memories in turn lead to thoughts of their adventures and near misses together, and how eventually in the end they had truly saved each other.

Sitting up and scrubbing her hair vigorously to help shake off the melancholy threatening her, she threw the covers back and grabbed the black silk dressing gown on the vanity chair beside the bed. She stood up and threw it around her shoulders with a flourish, making it billow up and then settle around her. Tying the sash forcefully, she stepped towards the windows and yanked the curtains open.

The grey fog before her covered most of the landscape, obscuring homes and trees, the roads and the park. She could see by the the small puddles on the road immediately in front of the townhouse that there was a light rain. She put her hand up to one of the panes, it was cold, then bent forward and leaned her forehead against the glass. Winter. Winter in England. Not quite the triumphant return she imagined it could be. She missed home. She missed her family. She missed him. Soon, she thought, soon.

*********************

Jack felt a light press of lips to the corner of his mouth, the brush of soft hair against his cheek and heard a soft inhale. He detected the lingering scent of French perfume and lavender soap and a hand smoothing the curls of his hair off his forehead. A small smile began to straighten his mouth and as he went to open his eyes he felt a jostle, strong enough it awoke him fully with a start. The room was dark and as his eyes became more accustomed he could make out a grey light creeping in from the window behind him. He rolled over and looked up, it appeared it was just dawn. He pulled the covers aside and swung his legs over the side of the small bunk. Standing, he grasped the lower sill of the porthole beside the bunk and peered out.

It was misty, cloud covered, the grey-green sea heaving up and down gently, occasionally cresting in a whitecap. He stretched, leaned forward and convinced himself he could just see the coastline of France. Had it really been over ten years since he been there? The war seemed a lifetime ago or perhaps another lifetime all together. At one time he had thought that he would never overcome the horrors and find some sense of balance. But now... now he felt a little more at peace, knowing he would always remember but not let it rule his life entirely anymore. His experience would always be part who he was, part of everyone who had lived it.

“I've not taken anything seriously since 1918.” She had startled him with that remark and so it had begun, his curiosity to discover what really was behind this facade of 'society dilettante'.

As he stood there reminiscing, he was a little chagrined that he felt more trepidation now then when he had travelled to Europe the first time in 1915. This current sailing into the unknown was a whole new definition of brave he mused. Who would have thought that many years later he would gaze out on those shores again, aboard a different ship, steaming on his way to England. To her. Soon, he thought, soon.


	2. Chapter One

The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher spread a generous amount of apricot jam across a triangle of toast, placed the knife on her plate and addressed the women across the dining room table. 

“So what are your plans for the day, Mother ?” Phryne nibbled her toast and toyed with the handle of her tea cup.

“Well, I have a dress fitting with Madame Lise at one and an afternoon tea at four with my Home For Widows and Orphans committee. After that, dinner in tonight I think. You Father is in Staffordshire until tomorrow. “

“Sounds like rather a full day, mother, I am very glad to see you have made a life for yourself here, with your friends and committees and social engagements.” Phryne had watched her mother closely in the three months she had been back in England. Her parents reconciliation appeared to be going fairly well, despite their daughter's scepticism regarding the matter.

On the weeks long flight across the globe, with just the two of them for company, she and her father had actually managed a few moments of frank discussion about his marriage and financial situation. Well, it was more a case of Phryne spoke and Henry was forced to listen. 

There are some topics she will not get into with her father but Phryne was determined to broach two very important ones before she returned him to his wife. Over whisky one evening, as they sat in a hotel lounge, she made it very clear to her father that the estate management would have to be transferred to trustees if there was any hope of getting him out of the financial quagmire he was in. She had silenced him when he started to bluster and reiterated that there was no way she was going to travel this far and leave the home and people she loved for a considerable amount of time, only to have him run the estate into the ground. Again.

Then Phryne had drained the remaining whisky in her glass for courage, steeled herself and been quite blunt about her father's need to change his philandering and nefarious ways. If indeed Margaret was the so called 'love of his life', how on earth, Phryne had wondered aloud, could he treat his wife with so little regard.

Henry had protested that he was a changed man, especially after that life threatening affair in Melbourne, and promised to make a better go of it. Phryne, although glad to hear him say it, admitted to him she would have to be convinced. It would take a miracle she repeated, as she had once expressed all those days ago in her parlour with Jack as witness.

All meaningful conversation for the remainder of their trip however was then sabotaged when Henry, patriarchal pride pricked, threw back at her, “Well, you really aren't in a position to lecture me about love. What would you know about it?” Phryne did not give her father the satisfaction of a reaction, although she was angry, and instead just threw her napkin on the table and remarked as she left, “Our cab to the airfield leaves at 6 am sharp, be out front in the morning.”

Phryne had been happy to see her parents reunited and remained civil for her mother's sake but could not fail to notice that Lady Richmond-Upon-Thames had noticeably aged and seemed a little more frayed around the edges, no doubt from worry and hurt. However, the older woman's pride and stubbornness would not allow her to admit or discuss it. Margaret Fisher was very much like her daughter in that respect, always forging on despite the burden that sometimes settled on on’es shoulders.

“When is your .... policeman ... from Melbourne scheduled to arrive again?”

Phryne kept her head down and bristled a little as she felt her mother's eyes fall on her. As much as she was looking forward to seeing Jack, she was also now regretting that she had asked him to come after her, if only for subjecting him to her incorrigible parents. Could they be any more condescending with that choice of term for her friend. 'Your policeman.' Really! Undoubtedly her father's doing.

Jack was so much more than that and she vowed that once she had introduced him to her mother, and good manners dictated, she would whisk her 'policeman' off to a cozy hotel room. And if they managed to make it out of said room, she would show him all the sights of London she knew he would enjoy - the museums and libraries and art galleries, all bathed in centuries of history. And then whisk him back to Melbourne. She missed him terribly, and her home and her little rag tag family.

“If the weather holds, his ship will hopefully dock in Southampton on the 14th.”

Margaret sipped her coffee and looked back at the newspaper propped up before her. 

“So, what does the day hold for yourself? Another soiree with your bright, young things?”

Phryne thought of the party she had attended a few nights ago and sighed. There had been the requisite amount of laughter and dancing and champagne and she had enjoyed the evening to a point. A point at which the smoke had begun to sting her eyes and the slurring taunts and raucous laughter had started to wear on her. She had eventually waved her friends off to the next after hours club and crawled home to her comfortable bed alone.

There had been no lack of beautiful young things to lavish attention upon her that evening or offer to escort her home, but they became tiresome as the night grew late. Empty headed, sycophantic and frivolous children all. Where was the challenge and adventure in that she wondered. English night life now seemed to pale in comparison to stealthily climbing up the side of a building or the adrenaline rush that came from chasing miscreants through a dark alley. Or putting a scowl on the face of a handsome Detective Inspector. Her attention had drifted so she brought it back to the present and addressed her mother's question.

“No, I think I may take a nice walk through the park, if the weather improves.”

Margaret studied her daughter over the newspaper and detected a note of weariness and impatience. Almost three months in England now and she could tell that her daughter was like bird in a gilded cage, ready to fly free. She also had a sneaking suspicion that this visiting 'colleague' was responsible for her daughter being distracted and vibrating with anticipation, not that her daughter had been very forthcoming. 

From what Henry had indicated, this man was more than an acquaintance, more like a very special friend. After all, he was travelling half way across the globe to see her. A suitor perhaps? And a very unsuitable one at that. What on earth would her daughter have in common with a lowly civil servant. A man who probably had very limited means. Prudence had mentioned him in her letters but was not familiar with his family and her sister knew everyone of importance in the upper echelons of Melbourne society. Really Phryne, with all the well situated eligible men she had the choice of ...

Phryne could almost hear her mother's mind working so she hurriedly drained her coffee, placed her napkin on her plate and stood up. 

“Excuse me, mother. Have a lovely day and I shall probably see you at dinner.”

“Have a nice walk dear.” Margaret called out to Phryne's retreating back.


	3. Chapter Two

Phryne's 'policeman' strolled the port-side deck of the ship, the wind blowing fiercely from the north west so that his coat whipped about his legs and he had to keep one hand to his head to prevent his fedora from flying off. In concession to the decidedly colder temperatures today, Jack had abandoned his usual three piece suit and was warmly attired in a cream cable knit sweater and casual trousers. He had however not given up his long grey trench but added a scarf and leather gloves.

After a while, Jack ceased fighting with the wind and removed his hat, resigned to the fact that his carefully combed hair would now become a tangled, curly mess. He might be willing to sacrifice his usually neat appearance, but not the hat. If it blew overboard he would never hear the end of it from her. His eyes crinkled slightly as he thought again of their case in the vineyard and of her fitting him with his current fedora, hands curled around his lapels pulling him forward and that sassy look on her face.

His emotions were all over the place these last few hours before their hopefully happy reunion. Trepidation and anticipation, hope and wonder were taking him through the gamut. But the one thing he was sure of was that there was no regret. He had never felt so alive in all his life and he would remember and cherish this feeling regardless of what the future held.

“Weather not very conducive to a stroll around the deck today?” Jack was interrupted in his thoughts by the greeting. He turned around and found himself facing a man of passing acquaintance; they had shared a few cordial words on a number of occasions aboard ship. 

“Yes, I was thinking that a brisk walk would be nice this morning, however this may be a little too brisk for me. “

“You are from warmer climes I hazard,” the man said pleasantly enough, obviously noticing Jack's tanned complexion. Jack nodded in agreement and then made a point of looking at his watch as it was almost time for lunch. “Looks like I will need to get below anyways to get tidied up for lunch.” The other man nodded as well and said “Good idea. Perhaps you would care to join me if you are free.” 

“That is very kind of you Mr....”

“Not at all... ,” The man extended his hand for Jack to shake and provided the rest, “Charrette. Marque Charrette, at your service.” Jack could detect a slight accent, French if his detective abilities had not deserted him, although the man's English was impeccable. 

“John Robinson” Jack reciprocated. “I shall see you down in the dining room presently.”

Jack entered the dining room ten minutes later and sought out the gentleman he had chatted with on his stroll around the deck. He spied him at one of the smaller tables set for two and acknowledged him with a wave of the hand. The man stood as Jack approached the table and gestured with a hand towards the other chair.

“I am pleased you could join me. I hope you don't mind that I chose a smaller table. The thought of a reprieve from another noisy meal surrounded by exuberant travellers is much welcomed.” Mr. Charrette's smile was wry and a little apologetic.

“I can well understand it myself,” confessed Jack. “After weeks at sea, the constant social hustle and bustle has started to wear a little. I have been more than content these last few days to find a good book and a quiet corner.” Marque chuckled in agreement.

Jack sat, removed the napkin to his lap, and surreptitiously began to study the man before him; he suspected Mr. Charrette was probably doing the same. He appeared a little older than Jack, there was a light greying of his dark hair at the temples, but like Jack was fit and appeared hale. His eyes were intelligent, his face was nondescript but made more appealing by the friendly expression he wore. Other then that the man gave nothing away. Jack immediately pegged him as a very careful man, then realized the irony and his mouth quirked a little.

The meal was pleasant. Being both fairly private men they did not share a lot of personal information but Jack learned that Marque Charrette had boarded the ship at Algiers, having completed business there and that he was returning to London where he lived. He was a widower with children living in Paris, London and America. Jack volunteered only that he worked as a civil servant in Melbourne and was travelling to London at the invitation of friends. He mentioned that he had not been back to Europe since the war and Marque commiserated, confirming Jack's suspicion that he was a survivor of that devastating event as well. They shared observations about the ports Jack had visited along the way on the long trip from Australia. 

After lunch was finished, Marque invited Jack to join him in the lounge for a drink and he decided why not. They retired to the bar and sat across from each other in comfortable armchairs sipping whisky. Marque became more loquacious as the liquor loosened his tongue and talked of troubling times in Europe and fears for his homeland France. Jack listened mostly, as was his want, interested in the expatriate's talk of world affairs. After a while Marque lowered his voice a little and having sized Jack up prepared to share a confidence.

“Just between ourselves John, there is a lot going on behind the scenes in France these days. The rumblings coming out of Germany are making the French people very uncomfortable again. There are some who are looking towards emigrating, to flee another conflict. Liquidating or moving assets and going to a new country, even the new world. Museums are planning for the eventuality of having to move priceless French artwork to places of safety. Unfortunately this has brought out underworld involvement and the usual associated corruption of officials. That is why I was in Algiers, to follow up on the rumour of a pipeline of illegally smuggled French treasures.”

Jack just stared at him, a niggling feeling hit him that he knew what was coming next. He ventured finally, “You work for the English government?”

“In a way.” Marque turned his head and looked slightly over his shoulder before turning back to Jack and leaning forward. “I am an inspecteur with the French National Gendarmerie, assigned to liaison with Scotland Yard while we investigate the smuggling trade from North Africa across the Channel.” 

Jack face remained expressionless although he was grimacing inward. His opinion of the man before him began to change. Marque Charrette was not a careful man at all. This was definitely not a conversation to be had with a stranger on a ship headed to England. For all the man knew, Jack was smuggling contraband as they spoke.

“Sounds very intriguing, Marque, perhaps you should not be sharing these things with me.” Charrette waved his hand at Jack dismissively and pursed his lips. “I am always careful, M. John, we are just two ships passing and talking of world affairs are we not? Between public servants, no? And unless these smugglers are now recruiting from down under I am not worried about confiding in you. My apologies if I have made you uncomfortable.”

“Not at all. I hope you are able to complete your investigation successfully and safely, Marque. Thank you for the drink but I must go and continue my packing. I wish you a pleasant evening.” Jack had drained the last of his drink, stood up and shook hands with his new acquaintance. 

“And you as well. I was happy you could join me and thank you for the interesting conversation. I hope you enjoy your stay in England if we do not talk again.”

Jack shook his head as he made his way back to his cabin, where he removed his shoes carefully and lay down on the bunk to rest before dinner.


	4. Chapter Three

The evening found Phryne comfortably ensconced in her parent's library, tucked up on a chaise, book open across her lap and a glass of whisky at her elbow. When she realized she had been reading the same page for the last several minutes, she closed the book and wandered over to the window. Rain was slashing fiercely against the pane and wind whipped the bushes as they wildly scrapped against the glass. She took a few deep breaths and blinked quickly to keep hers eyes from tearing. I am just tired she reasoned. Tired of being in England, tired of the rain and cold, tired of everything. She put her hand to the pocket of her robe and could feel the paper that lay within. She drew it out again and sighed.

_**Arrival delayed STOP eta Dec 16 noon STOP Whisky QUERY Miss you. J STOP** _

Phryne looked up at a noise at the hallway which was then followed a quiet knock. 

“Yes? “ she called out softly then tried to hide her irritation at the person who peered around the library door.

“Phryne, my dear, are you hiding?''

“No Father, just enjoying a peaceful read and a glass of good whisky.”

“You really should come out with us tonight to the Everingham's, their parties are always the talk of the holiday season. And there should be some interesting young people there to mingle with.”

“Don't you mean interesting young eligible sons of your friends, Father?'

“Oh Phryne, I just don't think you should be spending your evening moping. Come have a little fun.”

“I'm not moping Father. I just prefer my own company tonight. Besides the weather is terrible. You go and show mother a wonderful time. She deserves it.” Henry decided to ignore that shot and retorted with one of his own.

“Yes, well staying in won't bring him here any faster.” Phryne gave him a look and turned back to the window. “Goodnight Father.”

************

Jack finished folding the last of his dress shirts and placed it on top of the rest of his clothes that he had carefully placed in his small trunk. Other than the pyjamas he wore and the suit, shirt, tie and clean linen carefully hanging on a hook on the back of the cabin door, he was packed for tomorrow's disembarkation. On the bunk lay a smaller carryall in which he had placed his toiletries, books and other personal possessions, including a small gift for Phryne. 

The Office of the Chief Commissioner of the Victoria Constabulary had finally, albeit begrudgingly, been forced to recognize the considerable assistance of the Honourable Lady Detective and were recognizing her brave contribution with a official civilian commendation. Jack had insisted on delivering it to her personally and he smiled as he mused about what her reaction to it might be.

Even if it were within his means to give her anything in the world, like expensive baubles, he knew it was the heartfelt things that really touched her. She appreciated thoughtful expressions of regard, like lost enamel swallows and rusty tin badges. He hoped she would be pleased with the citation, thrilled even.

Looking around the cabin to ascertain he had pretty much done all he could do tonight, he closed the lid of the trunk and moved the carryall to the top of it. Weary and wanting to get a really good night's sleep, he then closed the light and crawled into bed. After all, he needed to be at his best tomorrow so as to be able to go toe to toe with the most infuriating, magnificent women he had ever met.

**********

Jack startled, reached his hand instinctively under the pillow and finding it empty, suddenly blinked his eyes open. Something had disturbed his subconscious and woken him. It was pitch black in the cabin. He thought he could detect some noise from the corridor and slowly turned over to face the direction of the door.

That surely was the distinct sound of footfalls quietly retreating. He lifted the covers and slipped out of bed to lay an ear to the door. It was silent now. Something brushed his bare feet and he looked down to barely make out something white that had been shoved under the door. Bending down, his hand found what felt like something made of thick paper or a thin cardboard. He curled his fingers around it and felt for the light switch.

Sitting in his hand was a business envelope, of a normal size but with a heft that told him it contained a number of folder sheets of paper. He turned it over and found a hastily scratched note on the outside.

_John, please keep this safe, I am being followed. 112 Nottingham, Wimbledon. Marque._

Jack sat slowly on the bed. Whatever trouble Marque was in, Jack had enough experience to know, after long years as an investigator, he needed to think this through carefully. The apparent address at the end of the note seemed to indicate that Marque intended a rendezvous. And that he needed Jack to carry the envelope off the ship; which was the last thing he was going to do until he had more information. He thought for a moment and coming to a decision carefully tore the side of the envelope and tipped out the contents.

They consisted of sheets of paper containing grids – the first column was comprised of dates, followed by a second and third column containing numbers and a string of English letters respectively. Scanning the first column more closely he was able to determine the dates were random but set in the future, starting in December 1929 and further into the new year. Going across on the same line as the date was a corresponding number of approximately 10 – 15 digits, which did not immediately mean anything to Jack. Further along the line were the letters or words, which also could have been anything – surnames, addresses, establishments. Right now he wished Phryne was peering over his shoulder, for a number of reasons if he was honest. She always did like a mystery and this certainly qualified.

Well, the package did not appear to be illegal or criminal at first glance. If Marque really was a gandarmarie and working for both the English and French governments, Jack reasoned, he needed to help get this information back into the right hands. He thought this over and then made the only decision he could under the circumstances.


	5. Chapter Four

The next morning, the weather had improved somewhat. The rain had stopped and the wind had dropped, however cloud cover continued to stubbornly keep the sun at bay. Jack turned the collar of his trusty overcoat up and clutching the lapels together with one hand, lifted up his small bag and joined the crowd jostling for room on the gangplank. Standing at the rail, he had searched the faces on the wharf and not seen her but there were so many waving and impatiently bobbing up and down, he was not surprised he could not immediately find her. She may also have been delayed for any number of reasons and he tried not to worry.

When Jack finally planted his feet on 'terra firma', he halted and looked around in amazement at the hundreds of people milling around and shouting. Suddenly he felt something jostle him from behind and his fedora was knocked to the ground. Someone reached around him to retrieve the hat and he turned half way to see a man straighten with it in his hands and offer it back to him. The man was as tall as Jack, with a beard and dressed in typical 'wharfie' attire. However his cap was pulled low on his forehead and Jack could not make out most of his features. He mumbled “Sor'y, mate.” He did not meet Jack's eyes as he handed it back. There was another man accompanying him, shorter, face also mostly obscured by a cap and avoiding the Inspectors close scrutiny. They continued on ahead, the short one looked over his shoulder slightly to glance back and then they disappeared into the crowd. Jack instinctively patted his pockets to assure his billfold was secure, then gripped his bag and strode purposely onward.

Negotiating customs went surprisingly smoothly, the agent had glanced at his passport and when Jack produced his credentials the man's brows had risen and he perfunctorily returned both. “I hope you aren't here on business, Gov'nor,” he offered with a smile. Jack chuckled and shook his head. “Strictly pleasure, I assure you.”

“Visiting family?”

“Er no... no, a friend.” Jack tried not to appear flustered.

“Ah, a woman perhaps.” the agent looked at him with a grin.

“Something like that,” Jack tipped his hat and headed out to find the baggage claim area.

********

Phryne turned this way and that, gazing critically at the dressing mirror before her. The stunning evening dress she was modelling fell beautifully. The thin straps and asymmetric neckline emphasized her lovely slender neck and décolletage. The bodice fit like a glove around her small waist and the floor length skirt drapped snuggly to hug her thighs and derriere. Mme. Lise clapped her hands before her and beamed. The dress was exquisite on her, the deep sage and black pattern of soft silk made the dress seem to swirl and it sparkled with matching beading on bodice and skirt. “Perfection”, Madame breathed and Phryne smiled. 

“The dress is a work of art, as is the woman who wears it. It is for a special occasion, no? Mademoiselle Fisher.”

“Yes, yes it is. I have a very dear friend who is travelling a very long way to visit and he arrives tomorrow. I hope to show him all the sights, including a night or two at the theatre.” Madame nodded knowingly.

“Mon chere, if I may say, the gentleman will have a difficult time observing the performance with you at his side.”

“I have always believed that a woman should dress first and foremost for her own pleasure, Mme. Lise, however if my escort appreciates a beautiful dress well... ”

“Délicieux. We will have you parcels delivered by this evening, if that is agreeable Mademoiselle.”

Phryne quickly did an inventory in her head to see if she had taken care of all she needed. The new deep red coat, with fox collar and matching cloche was perfect for meeting Jack at the port. There were two new gowns for various balls or other formal gatherings they might attend and several fashionable but warm outfits for their strolls through the streets and parks. Lingerie and silk robes for the nights or the days they decided to stay in. Phryne smiled to herself as she thought of the all the possibilities when she finally got her hands on her Inspector.

***************

An hour after disembarking, Jack stood searching the crowds before him, in a quandary as to what his next move should be. Phryne had still not appeared at the docks, either outside of customs or at the luggage claim offices. He was a little disappointed, he had been so anxious to see her now that he was finally here. And a little concerned that something untoward might have happened to delay her, like a traffic accident. Heaven knows he knew how she drove. However, he would not even entertain the idea that she had changed her mind and not wanted to see him. Their communications over the last three months had been warm and affectionate, she had even made him blush a few times as she teased about what she was going to do with him when he finally landed. No, there must be a simple explanation. 

He reached inside his suit jacket to retrieve a copy of the telegram he had sent her to advise of the delay in arrival. He skimmed it to make sure it had been addressed properly, then blinked and reread it again. DAMN!, the telegraph operator had transposed the date of arrival. It read Dec 16, which was tomorrow. Blowing out a breath in frustration, he pondered for a few minutes. Taking a cab to the train station, and then the train into London was a viable option and would take perhaps a couple of hours at the most. And he could surprise her which was one of his favourite things to do. Jack smirked at that.

Fortunately one of the porters in the vicinity, noticing Jack standing with bag in hand and trunk at his feet, approached him and offered his services. Jack explained that he needed a cab to the train station. The porter lifted the trunk to the trolley and they made their way to the main thoroughfare.

The traffic along the high street was choked with cars and trucks, buggies and carts and all manner of vehicle, more than Jack could ever remember seeing. He certainly wasn't in Melbourne anymore. The porter blew a whistle and raised a hand to one of the black cabs idling at the curb. Jack looked over and stilled, standing beside the driver's window was one of the men who had jostled him on the pier. The man did not look his way but said something to the driver then walked on. Jack's brow furrowed and he quickly redirected the porter to a different cab standing farther along. The porter hesitated and then followed the Inspector. Trunk loaded, Jack threw his bag into the back of the cab, tipped the porter and they were off.

Jack settled back in the seat and thought about what had just happened. Sometimes being a little suspicious in his line of work was not a bad thing, he liked to be hyper aware of what was going on around him at all times. It came with the job. But after the unusual late night delivery he was feeling on edge. Running into a couple of unsavoury types once was unfortunate, running into them again so soon after did not seem like a coincidence to him. He looked out through the back window of the cab but there was so much traffic, particularly a number of black cabs, that it would have been almost impossible to spot anything untoward so he contented himself with exchanging a few pleasantries with his driver as they made their way to the train station.

Reaching the station, Jack had another porter carry his trunk to the baggage area and drop it in front of the desk . He arranged for it to be loaded onto a train headed into London. Southampton was a busy port and the trains to London ran regularly. The next one was due in 20 minutes. 

Standing on the platform, Jack realized his heart was beating a little faster now and he tried to calm himself. The anticipation was growing and he was having a hard time trying not to stand there grinning. Good grief man, you'd think you were some sort of lovesick fool, he thought, then realized it was a probably little late for that. He huffed, picked up his bag and finding the second class coaches stepped up into one. As he walked along the corridor he surreptitiously glanced out the windows to look for any familiar faces. Picking a empty compartment towards the back of the car he sat but did not remove his hat and coat.

Three men lurking around the corner of train's business office watched their quarry climb up onto the coach's steps and disappear into the its interior. 

“Did you hear where he sent the trunk?,” a middle-aged well dressed man in an elegant cloth coat and trilby asked of his two companions. The taller of the two, bearded, roughly dressed in cap, scarf and jacket replied. “Charin' whats he toll tha gent.” The third man, also roughly dressed and sporting a couple days growth on his face, agreed.

The well dressed man, his eyes never leaving the second class coach, reached into his pocket and produced some paper currency. “Get yourselves a third class ticket to Charing Cross and watch for him to make sure that is where he gets off. Hire a cab to follow him to his destination and for god's sake be discreet. I shall be ever so displeased if you lose him. Do you understand?” The two nodded. “We just need his address, we'll sort out the rest later.” Sending them on their way, he waited for a few minutes, and then proceeded to the ticket window. He purchased a ticket and made his way down towards the first class compartments. As steam billowed around the front of the train and platform, the conductor's call rang out “All aboard.”

Jack stared out of the window, watching people rushing at the last minute to pay their fares and run towards the various coaches as the train prepared to move off. As he felt the train finally begin to pull away, he gathered his bag, pulled his hat down, and stepped nonchalantly into the corridor. Moving swiftly he made his way to the end of the compartment and to the small set of stairs leading to the platform. As the train began to pick up steam he calmly leaped smoothly to the ground and strode quickly away and into the crowd without looking back. His two shadows, sitting obliviously in a coach two cars down opened their racing forms and settled in for the trip.

The man in first class, spying the retreating Inspector, quickly opened the door to his compartment and jumped onto the platform as well. He shook his head in disbelief, apparently there was more to this clever quarry then they had first thought; he cursed silently and went stealthily after the Inspector.


	6. Chapter Five

Jack found a quiet corner in the station waiting room and pulled out a book. The next train to London did not arrive for half an hour. He felt fairly confident that he had lost any persons who might have desired to follow him but he needed to be careful. There was no way he would risk leading anyone back to Phryne and her parents. He contemplated booking a hotel room in London and contacting Phryne from there, but the desire to see her as soon as possible and watching her reaction as he showed up unexpectedly at her door was too compelling and hard to resist.

The train ride into London seemed interminable despite the beautiful countryside of the south downs that rolled by and all the quaint towns and marketplaces. Jack just stared out the window unseeing, visions of a certain raven haired lady and possible adventures in London filled his thoughts. The small hamlets finally gave way to the larger suburbs and he grew amazed at the closely huddled houses and tenements. He could not imagine living in a place so large or so crowded. He got excited when he finally spied the Thames as the train crossed over in Fulham. He imagined he could see a bit of Buckingham Palace through the trees to his left as they flew through Westminster. Finally the train began to slow as it ran through St. James Park and along the Mall and finally pulled into Charing Cross Station.

When the train had come to a complete stop, he gathered his hat and bag and descended to the platform, looking in awe at the many tracks side by side. He watched as porters unloaded the luggage car and spotting his trunk, arranged to have it stored at the left luggage department for later. He then walked towards the exits, looking up at the signs that would point him towards the westward underground and his final destination of Knightsbridge. Always aware of those around him he did not find anyone acting suspiciously, nor did he see his previous companions. However he did not want to rest on his laurels and thought that once he emerged from the underground he would avoid public transportation and walk to the Fisher's residence.

Jack walked the pleasant tree lined avenues in the Knightsbridge neighbourhood and admired the Victorian large white bricked townhouses. Each was separated from the sidewalk by a small patch of lawn and tall black iron fencing. When he came abreast of the Fisher residence he did not slow but continued on. A few dozen yards further along he crossed the street and as he gained the opposite sidewalk, bent down and made a show of tying a loose shoelace. Again he noticed nothing out of the ordinary. It was late in the afternoon and there were not many people about, the only person close to him was a women coming towards him pushing a pram. 

Jack straightened and turned back and before he knew it he was standing before Phryne's front door, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and his suitcase at this feet. Well this is it, he thought and took a deep breath. He raised his hand to push the bell when all of a sudden from behind a cloth was placed to mouth, there was the sickening odour of chloroform and he was unceremoniously yanked backwards. The last thing he remembered before unconsciousness was being manhandled towards the street and the slam of several doors. 

Phryne was standing in the front hall of the townhouse absently going through the late mail delivery that had arrived a few minutes earlier, hoping for some news from her far away family. She was sorting through the usual tradesmen invoices and obvious invitations when she came upon a thick envelope with an oh so familiar pigeon scratch that made her heart leap. Without thought of finding a more private place, she slit it open there and then and pulled out another slightly battered envelope and a folded piece of paper that looked suspiciously like it had been torn from his notebook. 

_**Miss Fisher** _

**_Your ability to find trouble is still rubbing off, it appears that a mystery has found me, although I will be quite happy to hand it off to the local authorities._ **

**_No, you cannot open this other envelope and no, you are not to pursue an enquiry on your own. That is an order. Please._ **

**_Put this envelope in a secure place and I will fill you in when I arrive tomorrow (December 15th) Please do as I say. Just this once._ **

**_I did not come half way around the globe to have to chase you down. Again._ **

**_J_ **

She huffed a laugh and grinned. Leave it up to her Jack to gift her with a mystery even before he set foot on the continent. Wait a minute, this note mentioned he was arriving the 15th, that was today. But his telegram said the 16th. Thoroughly confused, she went to the library to use the phone. After a short conversation she hung the receiver up and sat puzzled. So the ship docked in Southampton this morning. And she wasn't there to greet him. DAMN. Where on earth was her Inspector? She wandered out into the hallway again and was about to climb the stairs when she heard the distinct sound of motorcar doors outside on the street, immediately in front of the residence. 

“Jack!” she blew out softly, then fairly flew to the front door to open it. By the time she pulled it open she was met with – nothing. There was no motorcar standing in front of the residence. There was one a ways up the street, driving so slowly that it looked like it was hunting for an address. The only pedestrian she could see was a young woman pushing a pram on the opposite side. Odd, Phryne thought, I was sure the sound of the motorcar door was directly in front. Perhaps it was next door.

Her disappointment quickly dissipated as she was giddy; Jack was here, a full day earlier and he had brought a mystery. As she went to close the door something caught her eye, a package of some sort was wedged between the front steps and the bushes which lined the front of the townhouse. She reached over and pulled out what had been a bouquet of flowers, quite the worse for wear now. What on earth? Phryne felt a sudden chill, something did not feel right.

She brought the bouquet indoors and unwrapped them delicately. They were a assortment of English garden flowers, simple yet beautiful. Then Phryne froze when she saw an orchid in amongst them. Jack had always given a lot of thought to the flowers he presented to her, each plant carrying a different meaning or message. An orchid reminded Phryne of home, his home, his garden. She looked for a card, however there was none, then for any notations on the paper wrapping and found a stamp which she brought closer to be able to examine. 'Charing Cross Flowers' it read. 

Phryne was at a loss. She could wait for a few more hours, surely if Jack was delayed he would get a message to her. However if something were wrong... and she could feel there was something off; a mystery and an abandoned bouquet of flowers delivered to her door, and an absent Detective Inspector, were troublesome. If she waited .... 

Phryne was not good at waiting. What she really wanted to do was rip open that inner envelope and see if its contents could help alleviate the fear that was slowly bubbling up in her chest. She left the bouquet on the front hall table and scooted up the stairs to find some privacy in her room. She closed the door and sat on the far side of the bed.

The interior envelope had obviously been opened previously and re-taped. She quickly read the outside message from Marque Charrette, then took the letter opener from her desk and slit it across the taped end, handling it by the edges so as not to compromise possible evidence. She eased out the three sheets of paper in the same manner, unfolded them and gazed down perplexed at the grid of numbers and letters as Jack had previously done. Curiouser and curiouser. There was also another short note. 

_**Phryne** _

**_If you are reading this it is because you never listen to me or I have been delayed. Take this envelope to Scotland Yard, Marque Charrette was a man I met on-board and claimed he worked with them. Be Careful._ **

**_Love Jack_ **

Phryne breath hitched and her eyes started to tear at his salutation. It was as if this might be his only chance to say he loved her. Phryne was overwhelmed with sudden need to take action, to do something, anything. Waiting would just feed her apprehension now and she could not bare it. Firstly she would copy out the grids, then do as he said and take it to Scotland Yard. The police would also have the resources to help her look for him, if indeed he was in trouble. Hopefully he will just show up at her door and admonish her for raising the alarm prematurely. She didn't care, let him skulk at her, it was better than the alternative.

It took her a matter of half and hour to copy the sheets, which she then hid in her room. By now it was getting late, past seven in the evening, but she was determined to deliver the envelope without delay. Her brief look at the information had given her some ideas as to what it all could mean. Smuggling leaped to the top of list. She changed quickly into a pair of comfortable black trousers and a high necked sweater to combat the cold, then flew down the stairs in search of the butler. She asked Higgins to find her a large envelope and have the driver bring the car around, then quickly explained to her surprised parents that she had an errand to run and to not wait dinner. The butler returned with the envelope and she slipped Jack's information into it, then donned a navy winter coat and hat, grabbed her handbag and sailed out the door.


	7. Chapter Six

Jack raised his head slowly, his hair curling down into his face and obscuring his vision. He jerked his head to the side, trying to nudge his hair away, but that did not seem to help, he was still blinded. He felt something trickling down his brows and into his eyes. His head ached, his shoulders ached too, caused by his arms having been wrenched backwards and hands bound behind him. And his midriff ached painfully when he tried to breathe, the kicks he had received might have cracked a few ribs, at the very least, he realized.

He could tell he was upright in a chair, his knees were settled over the corners of the seat and his ankles tied back against the front legs. He could also sense one man standing on either side of him as they waited for a third man standing before Jack to speak.

“You are not being very co-operative John... or whatever you call yourself.” The man held up Jack's billfold that contained his passport and credentials. “Imagine my surprise to discover you are a police officer, an unfortunate irony, no, monsieur.” 

Jack cleared his throat, it felt raw. “Well Charrette, if that is even your real name, I am unsurprised that you are a crooked one.”

“So you say. Well no matter.” He looked at the his two companions. “What have your found?”

The taller one spoke, his hands raised before him palm upraised. “We took tha tick't what you found on 'im and got tha trunk. T'er warnt thar'.”

“Did you tear the trunk apart? Take the linings up? Look for a false bottom?”

“Ya. T'er wort nuffin.” The two men shook their heads. 

“Well, Inspecteur, I went through your bag as well and did not find the papers there either. Although I must compliment you on your choice of reading material, quite eclectic.” Jack knew the man was trying to goad him into losing his temper, so he remained quiet. Inside he was furious at the thought of these thugs destroying his personal property and devastated that all his precautions had been for nought. He was also terrified that his attempt to keep Phryne out of this hung on a precipice. If these thugs even suspected he had secreted the list to someone else, and looked a little more closely at the residence where they had ambushed him, he would never ever ... He cursed himself.

“So monsieur, the question now is, where are those papers you were given. You were watched very carefully from the time you left the ship. At no time did you hand them over to someone or attempt to mail them, of that I am confident.”

Jack cleared his dry throat again, and attempted to articulate through swollen lips. “I ... sent ... to Scotland Yard ... from ... ship.”

“Hmmm. Not very trusting are you John, must come from being police. My bad luck.” Charrette shrugged his shoulders. “No matter. I am Scotland Yard and those papers fall under my purview.” 

With that he threw Jack's billfold down on the floor at the bloodied man's feet. “It has been un plaisir, Inspecteur, thankfully we will not meet again. Adieu.” He gestured to his companions. “Stick him and throw him in the river. Unfortunately this poor visitor from the Antipodes was set on by a gang of thieves. Such a tragedy.” He chuckled and walked away.

Jack could feel one of the men untying his ankles so he quickly bent forward and wiped at his eyes with one knee of his trousers. He was able to clear his vision a little before he was yanked up onto his feet. Clad only in shirtsleeves, trousers and shoes, he was manhandled across the planked floor of a warehouse of some sort and through a door to the outside. He measured his options as they marched him along a wooden wharf. It was quite dark but he could make out a large expanse of inky black to his left and beyond that the reflection of city lights at a distance. There was also the sound of the lapping of water against the pylons. The river.

The man behind Jack had a tight grip on the ropes binding his hands and pushed him along impatiently, holding a knife with his free hand. The taller one in front also held a knife and kept peering over his shoulder to keep an eye on the policeman. When they reached the end of the wharf, where there were no boats tied up, the man behind Jack pulled on his ropes to stop, then swiftly cut them. Before Jack could turn he felt a sharp pain in his upper back where the knife was plunged. He instinctively kicked back and caught his assailant in the kneecap, forcing the man to howl and crumple. The other made to come at Jack from the front, waving his knife from side to side. Jack straightened and put his arms up as the man lunged. He grabbed the man's wrist with both hands, his back screaming with pain, and their momentum backed them into the man on his knees behind him. All three went off the wharf and into the Thames with a large splash.


	8. Chapter Seven

Phryne slammed the front door forcefully and threw her hat down on the hall table in disgust. Scotland Yard had been less than helpful. After hearing her tale of coded messages and a missing Antipodean Detective Inspector, one uncivilized Detective Sergeant by the name of Brock took her information, told her they would pursue the matter diligently, metaphorically patted her head and sent her on her way. And he wasn't even remotely dashing. Further, when she had mentioned the name of Marque Charrette, Brock had remained stern, offering no more than that their agent was travelling at the moment. 

The butler calmly retrieved her hat and coat and after informing her there had been no further communications for her, asked if he could prepare her a plate as she had missed dinner. Phryne was too distraught to eat and declined, saying she would get something for herself later. 

“Could you please inform my parents that I am home. I have some telephone calls to make and will be in the library if needed, thank you Higgins.”

“Very good Miss,” he bowed and went off to inform his Lord and Lady their daughter had returned. 

Phryne went upstairs to retrieve Jack's correspondence and the sheets of paper she had copied. Once ensconced in the library behind her father's desk she proceeded make a number of calls to various offices, from harbour masters to train stations. The calls inevitably lead to the frustrating conclusion that there was little chance of tracing one passenger from a ship in Southampton to Knightsbridge, whether travel be by cab, train or underground. The whole process was surprisingly anonymous. 

However, the call to the harbour master did result in one mystery being solved. When Phryne read a few lines of the grid to him, he immediately identified certain strings of letters or words as the names of ships and the string of numbers to mean possible cargo manifests. This was confirmation of what Phryne had suspected, why would lists of cargo be of any concern or secreted unless there was smuggling involved.

She placed a call to her contact at Scotland Yard, DS Brock and when he answered the phone was more attentive and listened carefully as she explained her theory about the grids. Brock, to his credit, had done his due diligence after Phryne's visit and had just received confirmation of Jack's and Phryne's credentials. She apparently now had the Metropolitan Police's full attention, especially with a possible missing man now identified as a police officer. Then Brock shared something that shocked Phryne.

“We have had our eye on Charrette for some time now. We could not understand how these stolen goods were bypassing port authorities, so we initiated a secret undercover operation known to only to a very few. The Met discovered a large criminal consortium, created for the purpose of bribing officials and smuggling priceless stolen works of art. I suspect they tried to use your Inspector as an innocent pawn in delivering the illegal cargo manifests, as authorities would not have looked at him twice.”

Brock had the grace to apologize for Scotland Yard being slow on the uptake, assured her that DI Robinson's whereabouts was a priority, thanked her for her assistance and said they would be in contact. Phryne was little mollified. Words would not help her find Jack.

Phryne decided that her next step would be to travel down to the port first thing in the morning and start showing a picture of Jack around from the point of where he first set foot on land. At a loss as to what else she could do tonight, she wandered up to her room, closed the door and flopped down on the bed. She was trying very hard not to let despondency settle over her. How on earth could all this be happening now? After all this time and so many miles...

She sat up, reached over and opened a draw in her vanity. Inside was a small keepsake box, dark blue velvet, which she opened and drew out a folded newspaper clipping. She smoothed it out and then brought a hand up to her mouth. There they were, holding on to each other under a sunlit tree, she terrified as she flew into his embrace and he quite startled as she did so. She ruefully realized it was the only photograph she had of him. Why didn't she have more?

She lay back down on her side, clutching the newspaper and a tear ran down her cheek. _Wherever you are Jack, I will find you, I promise._


	9. Chapter Eight

After a fitful night, Phryne finally gave up the pretence of trying to sleep and arose in the early dawn. She dressed again comfortably for a long day of travel and detecting and carefully put the photograph and other papers in her bag. She was unsurprisingly not hungry but went in search of a hot cup of tea and breakfast anyways. Higgins was moving around the kitchen when she entered and he quickly supplied her with sustenance, including tea, toast, eggs, sausage, orange juice and raisin scones. She did not do his offerings much justice but felt much more invigorated after eating. The lady detective she asked him to let her parents know that she would be away from the residence for the day, hoping to return by evening and if that changed she would telephone. 

Higgins held open her coat and then handed her the matching cloche and gloves. He was about to open the front door when the bell suddenly trilled. Phryne jumped and a hopeful smile spread quickly across her face. She was going to give her Inspector a piece of her mind for making her worry. She breathlessly yanked the door open herself and the joy on her face abruptly evaporated.

“Oh hello Detective Sergeant Brock.” The man in question noticed her disappointment and turned slightly to include the uniformed constable at his side.

“I hope you do not mind us calling so early, but I did have some further questions concerning the matter we discussed yesterday. Would you be free to speak with us now?”

“I was just heading out however I could give you a few minutes,” she backed away from the door to allow them to enter and doff their hats. “I hope this visit means you are taking this search for Jack very seriously.”

Detective Brock did not answer her immediately, in fact he was decidedly avoiding her gaze which made Phryne start to feel very uneasy. She almost forgot her manners.

“Would you like to come into the parlour, perhaps I could offer you some tea.”

“No... ah, no thank you Miss Fisher, we need to just confirm a few details.” With that the constable set his helmet on the hall table and produced a notebook and pencil. Brock stood nervously clutching the brim of his trilby. 

“What can I help you with?” 

“We need you to provide a more detailed description of DI Robinson.” Phryne complied, providing Jack's general description.

“What is this all about Detective, is Scotland Yard going to put out an alert to be on the lookout for Jack?”

“Miss Fisher, during our enquiries we learned of an unidentified man discovered by a patrolman early this morning.”

“Well, where is he?” Phryne tried her best not to shout at him.

“I'm afraid he is at the morgue, Miss Fisher.” Brock was appropriately solemn. Phryne's face drained of colour and she looked at him stunned. He continued, “At 5 am this morning a rag man found a body along the embankment at low tide and went to find a constable. The unfortunate was transported to the morgue and Scotland Yard was notified. We would not usually be involved with a drowning but the victim appeared to also have a stab wound. The body is that of a white male, approximately 35 – 45 years of age and about 6 feet tall.” 

“That description could fit half the male population of London, why come to me?” Phryne was a little desperate now, trying not to let her legs give out from under her.

Brock drew a small clear bag from his coat pocket and held it out to her. She took it in unsteady hands and looked down at a plastic folio contained within it, spread open to reveal a very familiar set of credentials. The upper half held the distinctive coat of arms of the State of Victoria. The bottom half had some lines of water logged printing, but all Phryne's blurred sight could focus on was the signature line that said J. Robinson. A sob escaped her.

Moments later there came a sound of hurried footsteps along a corridor on the floor above their heads and Fisher the Elder and wife appeared at the landing, a look of alarm on their faces.

“I say, what is going on here? Who might you be, sir?” Henry blustered as he descended. Once her parents had gained the main hallway, Margaret left her husband's side to go to her daughter and put a comforting hand on her arm.

“Beg pardon, Baron, Baroness, I am Detective Sergeant Brock with Scotland Yard. I was conveying information regarding an investigation Miss Fisher is helping us with.” Brock bowed diffidently. 

“What do you mean investigation? What is going on Phryne?”

“Henry, stop yelling, can't you see Phryne is upset?” Margaret put an arm around her daughter although Phryne was not even aware of what was happening around her. She kept staring at the object in her hands, trying very hard not to scream or cry or howl.

The Detective motioned for the Baron to walk with him further down the hallway and they spoke in hushed tones for a few minutes. Henry nodded a few times, face growing shocked and serious, his mouth grim. Finally he turned away and walked slowly over to where Phryne and Margaret stood, arms entwined. Henry looked first at his daughter and then his wife and explained softly. “The Detective Sergeant would like me to accompany him to the morgue, to assist the police with an identification. I will explain later and I shan't be long.” He turned towards the stairs to dress.

“No!” Everyone in the hall froze and looked at Phryne. “No Father, I will go with Detective Brock.” Her bottom lip quivered but she looked up and stuck her chin out. 

“Phryne, you don't have to do this, let me go or let me go with you.”

“No Father, Mother. It would be inconceivable of me not to go and I prefer to go alone. Detective, I am ready. Lead on.”

Detective Brock nodded to his constable, who regained his helmet, opened the front door and they exited to the front walk. He offered his arm to the determined woman, however she just kept looking forward and strode to the police motorcar at the curb. 


	10. Chapter Nine

The ride to the morgue was very quiet. Brock regarded the stoic woman beside him, beginning to appreciate just how much strength her small frame held. Phryne was like stone, expressionless, hands still in her lap as she gazed out of the window beside her. This can't be happening she thought, not again. I can't live through this again. She was trying desperately not to fall apart, she needed to be brave... for him. 

When they reached the building, which was attached to London Hospital, Detective Brock leaped out and rounded the back of the police motorcar to open Phryne's door. He did not extend a hand to help her out. Phryne stepped out and looked up at the soot smudged grand building set back from the road. Her deep red coat and hat was a startling contrast to the black of the bare trees and the white and greys of the surrounding background. And Phryne's pallor.

After interminable corridors and stairs, they reached the bowels of the hospital and stood before a white door, in need of a coat of paint, containing the lettering MORGUE. Brock hesitated and asked Phryne if she wouldn't mind waiting a moment while he consulted with the pathologist. Phryne shook her head and then looked at the Detective.

“I have spent more time in morgues then you could possibly imagine Detective, you do not need to be concerned about my sensibilities.”

Brock nodded and then opened the door and they stepped into a small reception area. Phryne was assailed with the familiar mixed scents of decomposition and strong cleaners as she looked about. Brock opened a door leading off the small chamber and announced their arrival. A few moments later the pathologist, in overall, appeared, indicated another door and led the way. Along another corridor and through a heavy metal door, they arrived at a tiled room with a number of large drawers. The doctor stopped before a drawer which was at waist height, pressed a button so that the face of it opened, and slid out a shroud covered tray.

Phryne took a few steps forward to stand beside the drawer and nodded to the doctor that she was ready. He delicately folded the top of the shroud down to expose the victim's features and Phryne's face crumpled, her head fell and she let out a wail. On the tray was a man she had never seen before in her life.


	11. Chapter Ten

Jack sat on a wooden bench, grateful for the warm blanket around his shoulders and the hot cup of tea on the rough table before him. 

During the early morning hours of the day prior, a night watchman had found him on the river stairway leading up to the Old Bailey. The man had, at first, wanted to fetch a constable. However Jack had stayed him, mumbling that he did not want any trouble with the police, before passing out.

The watchman, having a bit of a past himself, had nodded knowingly and brought the nearly drowned man to a small gatekeepers cottage just outside the Temple grounds. The man's wife had looked at the wound on Jack's back, determined it was not too deep, cleaned and stitched it with sewing thread. Then the couple had scrounged a pair of old flannel trousers and sweater and tucked the stranger into a cot where he had regained consciousness a little over an hour ago.

“You should ha' a doctor look a' that, young man,” the older man nodded towards Jack's shoulder as he clasped his tea cup.

“I will, thank you... again,” Jack nodded. “What I should do first is find a telephone. I need to reach my friend in Knightsbridge, who was expecting me and will be worried.”

The night watchman eyed Jack carefully, then looked at his wife and reached into his pocket and pulled a few coins out of it. “Sorry lad, we gots no phone, but thar be one up tha road.”

Jack held up a hand, “I really can't ask you... you saved my life, you have done so much already.”

The man insisted, “I were in a trench w' many a digger who saved my life.”

Jack actually grinned at that. “You pommies are tough bastar... ,” Jack remembered at the last minute there was a lady present and trailed off. “I will pay you back, I promise. And compensate you for the clothes.”

The other man merely nodded his understanding and handed his brother-in-arms a old woollen army jacket to wear. Jack swallowed a lump in this throat as the watchman warned,

“That I wont back.”

Jack gave him a warm and grateful look, downed the last of his tea and stood. He felt fairly steady on his feet so he shook the couple's hands and headed out the door. The sunlight made him wince and he brought his arm up to shade his eyes and look around. The watchman had given him directions along the embankment to the Temple underground station so he headed west. He noticed people scurrying by giving him imperious looks, he knew he looked odd but really didn't give a damn. He'd had enough of England at the moment, all he wanted to do was find Phryne.

It would probably have vexed Jack greatly to know that Phryne at that very moment was looking down the barrel of a gun.


	12. Chapter Eleven

All three of the Fishers were presently in their sitting room, the Baron and Baroness sitting side by side on their chaise clasping hands, their daughter standing in the middle of the room looking defiantly at a well dressed gentleman holding a gun on them.

“What is the meaning of this, who are you?,” Henry shouted, trying to gain control of the situation with his righteous indignation. Phryne remained still and quiet, her mind working on a number of possibilities on how to turn the situation to her advantage so that she could disarm him. Unfortunately the man with the gun had brought another dubious character with him, who was presently guarding the servants in the kitchen. Any altercation in here would bring him running.

“My name is Charrette, I believe you have something of mine.” The man looked back and forth between the two sitting and the one standing. Henry looked perplexed. “What on earth are you talking about, I don't know you.”

“No you don't, but you do know a Detective Inspector John Robinson. I gave him a parcel for safe keeping and I have reason to believe he passed it on to you.”

“Where is Jack?”, Phryne said through gritted teeth.

“I believe he has had an unfortunate accident - waylaid by common thieves when he stepped off the boat, I am to understand.” The smug look on his face had Phryne wanting to smack him. She instead bit her lip to calm herself. She needed to keep her head, for everyone's sake, if they were to get out of this. Charrette continued, “The parcel was not on him nor had he time to dispense with it. I suspect your clever policeman gave it to the ship's purser to mail the night before we docked. Your residence was where he was headed so I am fairly certain he sent it here. Where is it?” 

“Jack would have sent it to Scotland Yard,” Phryne asserted. She kept her eyes on the gun. “He would not have wanted to involve civilians.” 

“I thought that as well, however enquires there failed to produce it. Your Inspecteur appears not to be very trusting of the local police either.”

Phryne's mind was whirling now. Brock had the original copy of the grid documents but had been savvy enough to not share them or information about Jack and Phryne with Charrette. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. Everyone froze. Charrette continued to point the gun steadily at his captives as his mind worked. He could have one of the Fishers answer the telephone but did not trust that they would not give the game away; he or his partner could not answer it and leave someone unguarded. In the end, he let it ring until finally the house was quiet once more.

***************

Jack hung up the phone in the red call box and frowned. A call going unanswered in a house full of servants was unusual and he began to be alarmed. He was hesitant to call Scotland Yard, not knowing who he could trust. He exited and started to run. 

The Temple Underground Station was near and he hurried down the flights of stairs as safely as he could. It took a few moments to negotiate the correct fare and then he was off, weaving in and out of commuters to find the right direction to the train he wanted. Finally reaching the correct platform he raised his left wrist to look at his watch and realized that the buggers had taken that as well. He was left to pace until he felt the air blow down the tunnel and heard the rumble of the approaching train. When it finally slid into the station and stopped, he barely waited for the doors to open before he rushed on. He sent up a prayer to whomever that he would find Phryne and the household safe.

When he emerged out of the Knightsbridge underground several minutes later he began running again until he reached the correct street. However instead of retracing his steps up the avenue, he searched out a lane-way which serviced the back entrances of the townhouses. Working his was slowly up the narrow track, separated from the residences by walled gardens, he counted until he was sure he had the Fisher residence. The wooden door in the wall would probably be locked, but when he went to put his hand on the handle to try it anyway, he found that someone had already taken some tool to it and the bolt was thrown back.

Jack was now running on pure adrenaline, he ignored how his lungs strained to take breaths and how his shoulder ached. Creeping up to a back porch, he found one of the windows broken, peered through it into what must be a pantry and found the room empty. Whoever had smashed the window had also left the back door ajar slightly. He gently swung it open and tiptoed across the floor to listen at the kitchen door. He could hear a woman softly weeping and the low voice of another woman gently trying to sooth and shush her. 

“Stap yer snifflin, nuffin'll hap'n if you shut yer yap.” Jack recognized the voice of one of his charming abductors, the short one who gave him the knife wound. He needed to see inside the kitchen, so he positioned himself at the crack where the door hinges met the door jamb and peered through. He could barely make out the thug, who appeared to have a gun trained on three people around a table, a butler, a maid and possibly the cook. The man was partially turned away from Jack, but not enough to prevent him seeing Jack coming. The Inspector thought for a second and looked around him. Spying a small wooden box on the shelf behind him, he lifted it quietly threw it out the pantry window. It made a small clatter in the back garden and caught the attention of the man holding the gun. As the thug turned towards the kitchen window, Jack was on him and so surprisingly was the butler. 

Higgins swiftly stuffed a washcloth into the man's mouth as Jack leaned a knee on his back and pulled his hands behind him. 

Charrette heard a slight noise from the direction of the kitchen and turned to call out to his partner when Phryne took advantage of his inattention. She kicked out sideways and connected with his arm. Henry leaped up off the couch as the gun went flying and grabbed a vase which he proceeded to bring down on the head of the man who stumbled backwards. Charrette went down with a thud and sprawled prone on the floor.

Phryne picked up the gun off the rug and headed off in the direction of the kitchen. As she neared the baize door she hid around the jamb so she could peer through the round window without being seen. But before she had a chance to get a look the door swung out slowly. A roughly dressed man was creeping out of the kitchen, head down and gun held out before him. So she clocked him with the butt of her gun. The man groaned and went down on his hands and knees and Phryne kicked the gun away. 

Henry, having tied up the unconsciousness man in the sitting room with the sash of his smoking jacket, had appeared with Margaret in the corridor. They stared open mouthed at the scene in front of them, a man on his hands and knees on the floor and Phryne standing over him with a gun. The man on the floor looked up and swiped ineffectively at the hair in his face.

“Jack!” Henry said incredulously.

“Jack?” Margaret wasn't sure she heard the name correctly.

Phryne lowered the gun, slowly crouched down beside her partner and raised her hand to brush the hair from his forehead. The hair was longer than she remembered and there was the beginnings of a beard but she would have known him anywhere. “Oh no.” Jack turned his head, gave her his little crooked smile and proceeded to pass out.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Phryne lay on her side, her head on both hands, and watched him as he slept beside her. His chest rose and fell with an easy rhythm, as opposed to Phryne's, whose heart was still beating rapidly. Between the invasion of their home, the ensuing tussle, the arrival of the doctor and the constabulary, and the taking of statements for hours, the adrenaline in her system was causing Phryne's to feel almost hysterical. And she could use a large measure of whisky. The only thing which was grounding her at this moment and had grounded her for quite a long time now was the man beside her and she had no intention of letting him out of her sight for a second.

It was about four in the morning and she was supposed to be sleeping, the doctor had even offered her a powder to assist with that, as he had offered one to Margaret and the two female servants. Henry of course had his nerve tonic. However Phryne had declined, wanting to stay alert.

The Inspector was still out cold; worn down from the mistreatment and exhaustion, the Doctor diagnosed after he had examined the patient thoroughly. There were also signs of malnourishment and dehydration and Jack desperately needed rest. The physician redressed the knife wound, treated the various cuts and bruises, bound the cracked ribs and declared him well enough that a hospital stay was not immediately indicated. There was an offer to arrange for nursing care but Phryne assured him she had training as a nurse and would look after the Inspector. His final comment before he headed out was that if the Inspector had not been as fit as he was the outcome could have been very different. 

Phryne closed her eyes and took some deep breaths to try and calm herself again. She must have dozed a little because the next thing she be aware of was a stirring in the bed beside her and she opened her eyes to see a pair of hooded dark blue ones looking back at her. Her instinct was to place her arms around him and hold him as close as she could, so she did. 

They both lay there drinking in that incredible feeling that had been missing for months: that osmosis that enabled their fears and joy and sadness and affection flow between them without speaking a word. Finally she released him, put on her brave face, raised up on one elbow and tentatively moved a lock of hair from his forehead. 

“Hello Jack.” Softly.

He blinked, made a rough sound in his throat and croaked, “Miss.. Fisher...”

Phryne sat up fully and leaning towards the side table, retrieved a glass of water and brought it to his lips. With the other hand, she helped him bring his head up slightly he was able to take a few sips. She returned the glass to the table, then placed a hand to his cheek and examined his pupils.

“You look terrible.” She finally commented and bit her lip.

“Thank you... was... going... for that.” Phryne huffed out a half laugh, tears threatening to overwhelm her and shook her head. This man. Oh how she had missed his wry humour.

“This is what happens when you go on adventures without me.” She scolded.

“I'll keep that... in mind.” His eyes were dancing now.

“You better.” she pouted. “I'm not sure I am ready to forgive you just yet after what you have put me through the last few days.”

“I'm so... so... sorry... Phryne,” he started but she put a finger to his lips.

“Perhaps we shall just call ourselves even.” she looked at him meaningfully and he understood.

For several moments, they just stared at each other as they had always done.

“When I thought you had drowned...”, she began after awhile and his brow went up. She explained quickly about the mix-up at the morgue and his face got very solemn. He looked at her and conveyed all his regret in the quiet moment that followed. Then he lifted an arm from the bedclothes and laid his hand on the hand she had on his cheek.

“When I thought I had lost you, I...found it... ” Phryne was having difficulty seeing clearly now as her eyes teared up. Jack blinked again, trying to stem the same. 

“Unbearable?”

She nodded.

“Sounds serious.” his voice was that low, vibrating bass she knew so well.

“It is.” She sighed and a tear slowly crept down her cheek. He searched her eyes and then slowly but painfully turned towards her and moved his hand from hers to rest it on the nape of her neck and brush her glorious shiny raven hair as he had dreamt of doing for months. Phryne in turn drew a finger across his lips. Her eyes shone.

“Permission to kiss a friend hello?,” she asked shyly. He nodded. She took both sides of his face gently in her hands and bent down, first kissing one bruised eyelid, then the other as he closed them. Then she kissed his cheeks and the end of his battered nose and chin and the sides of his mouth, careful not to hurt the split lip. As she drew away slightly, he opened his eyes and looked back up at her.

“I've missed this face,” she said tenderly and his crooked smile lengthened.

“Permission to kiss a friend hello?,” he countered. At her nod, he urged her head forward and brushed his lips to hers, then along her jawline and just behind her ear. Delighted, Phryne grinned and lay her hand on his chest.

“You came after me,” she said in wonderment.

“I did.”

“Well, Jack Robinson,” she said through giddy tears now, “you were supposed to be on my doorstep several days ago and you are late. You are going to have to find some way to make it up to me.”


	14. Epilogue

Phryne and Jack sat side by side quietly and took in the breathtaking mural, by the brilliant French artist Claude Monet, called “Blue Water Lillies”. They found themselves in accord yet again, expressing an admiration for the art of the impressionists.

“I think this will always be my favourite, especially as we helped to recover it.” Phryne sighed.

And indeed the French government had been very grateful to have it recovered. As Jack had convalesced, both governments had moved quickly to destroy the smuggling consortium and return the valuable pieces of art to their rightful owners. And with information supplied by the Inspector, Phryne had personally seen to the tracking down of his place of confinement and the gathering of evidence there. Most of his personal belongings, which were miraculously still sitting on the warehouse floor, had been salvageable; the trunk however was a lost cause, so she had bought him another despite his protestations. However, Jack cared little enough about it all, all that mattered to him was the look in her eyes when he presented her with the commendation from the Victoria constabulary.

Jack just nodded at Phryne's remark, although truth be told he was having a difficult time appreciating the beautiful paintings before him as his gaze kept straying to the incredible women beside him.

“You're staring again.” Phryne did not have to shift her head.

“Was I?” Jack smirked.

“You are supposed to be paying due attention to all the beautiful works of art here.” She admonished.

“How do you know I am not?”

She turned and gave him a soft kiss to his smirking lips. “You are hopeless Jack Robinson.”

“I am afraid there is indeed no hope for me.”

With that Jack disentangled her arm from his and stood, offering a hand gallantly for her to join him.

“Now, I have dutifully spent all afternoon wandering these halls and I believe I was promised a reward.”

Phryne smiled coyly and took his hand. “Yes, I believe you have earned one for your heroic sufferance. What did you have in mind.”

“I believe some room service might be involved if you can bare it.”

“I think I could cope with that.”

They wandered towards the exit and as they stepped outside the Musée D'Orsay their breaths became visible in the brisk Parisian air. The view of the Seine before them gave them pause, it was surreal for both of them to be back in Paris and it was moments like this that had them struggling to believe it possible. Of course, everything about this moment had been about making impossible things possible.

They pulled their scarves and coats closer and hung onto each other as they made their way along the cobblestones towards the Pont de Concorde and their apartment on the Rue Troyon near the Arc de Triumphe.

Their cheeks were red from the walk along the river as they hurried home and once safely ensconced in their rooms, he took her in his arms and kissed her deeply before laying a hand on her cheek and staring into her eyes once more.

“Have I told you today how much I adore you?”

“Yes, I believe you expressed yourself quite well several times last night and this morning, Inspector.”

“Well, if you permit, I would like to express it a few more times so that I get it right, before we have to catch our ship home.”


End file.
